


miscellanea

by witchofspaz



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofspaz/pseuds/witchofspaz
Summary: a collection of drabbles





	1. soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave helps Dirk sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birthday fic for my best best best best best best friend laura, the most beautiful and towering horse girl in the universe
> 
> i love you SO much thank u for being the platonic dirk to my dave and my writing inspiration always

You rest your hands on Dirk’s shoulders, squeezing them between your thumbs and fingers in a gentle bro massage. As you let your palm slip down over his chest, you feel the tension that lives in his muscles at all times relax, just the tiniest bit. It’s barely perceptible, and only evident to you through long exposure to your brother’s ever-subtle body language.

Moving around his chair, you take the soldering iron from Dirk’s hand and set it down gently on his workbench.

“You need to rest, bro. Your engine’s been running nonstop for days.”

“Just let me finish closing this circuit,” Dirk says distractedly, reaching for the iron again, but you’ve done this dance before. You do it at least once a week. He wants to stop, just needs someone to give him permission.

“Dude, it’ll keep.” You lift his chin with a finger (all the pressure you need to apply; he follows your direction so easily) and kiss him softly on the lips. His entire body yearns toward you, and you’re pretty sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

“C’mon,” you say, and he lets you pull him onto his feet and lead him toward the futon. Sometimes it’s easier to get him to sleep by putting him on something other than an actual bed, like you’re tricking him into it. As he sits, heavily, he pulls you down with him, and you’re cool with that so you straddle his lap and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, before you give him what he really wants and kiss him. You kiss him over and over, soft, open mouth but low heat. He tries to step it up a few times, his tongue making aggressive forays past your lips and teeth, but you pull back each time, leaning in again only when he gentles. You have to remind him: he’s safe here. There’s no need to hurry. You’re not going anywhere. You can feel him remembering that truth, everywhere your body touches his. Iron hard muscles relaxing, joints loosening up, your tightly controlled brother turning to clay under your hands and your mouth and your body. He lets you coax him onto his back, head on a pile of froofy throw pillows Jade foisted on you because “your house is too full of weird boy stuff!!! so boring!!!!!” You move with him, finally giving him your tongue, and he makes the tiniest noise of relief in the back of his throat, only audible at all because you’re so close. It makes you smile against his mouth. It’s so satisfying when you can make him do something he didn’t mean to do, and you often find yourself chasing those unstudied reactions, cataloguing them, filing them away in a mental folder called “dirk strider can act like a real actual person who fuckin knew”.

He’s only like that with you. Unlike yours, his poker face is nigh impenetrable, but when it’s just you and him, when you catch him in a vulnerable moment, you can peel away the layers of irony and intellectual superiority and meticulous self-control, and he lets you. What’s underneath, that’s just for you.

Dirk clutches at the back of your neck, and the motion is a little more desperate than you’d like, so you soothe him like a nervous stallion, hands petting over his chest and sides. When you feel him relaxing under you, feel a little more of that stored up tension draining out of his body, you carefully pluck the shades from his face (yours have already been discarded; you rarely wear them around him) and lay them on the cluttered coffee table. His exposed eyes stare up at you. There’s a hint of anxiety under the naked adoration in his gaze, even though he trusts you all the way to the limit of his capacity for that particular emotion, and maybe even a little beyond sometimes. It puts a lump in your throat. You take his face in your hands, cradling it. You kiss each of his eyelids and then the terrifyingly dark and fragile skin under his eyes. The bridge of his nose, his razor sharp cheekbone, the harsh angle of his jaw. With each kiss, Dirk exhales softly but audibly, and you feel him melt into the futon a little more. When you reach his mouth again he’s practically a puddle.

You’ve accomplished what you needed (what he needed) but you keep kissing him for a while, just because you want to. When you disengage, Dirk lets out a massive sigh.

“Fuck me, I’m tired.”

“Is that an invitation, or… ?” You prop your chin on your hands and grin lazily at him.

Dirk looks like he’s actually considering it. “Maybe later. I’m beat. Need to pass out for a couple hours at least.” Longer, if you can help it.

“Right on. Want me to stay?”

“Yeah.” He wraps his arm around you, snugging you in closer. His eyes are already closed. You arrange yourself against him, and just like always, it feels like your bodies were made to fit together. Maybe they were; you do share fifty percent of your genes with him, after all.

With your head pillowed on his chest, you listen to his heartbeat and his breathing. Only when you can hear sleep in their rhythm do you let yourself drift off, at peace with your brother’s body lax and boneless under yours.


	2. viewfinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave being gay with a camera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty old and very short but i still like it i think

Through the viewfinder, it’s easier to meet his gaze. It’s calm and unflinching as always, even with your camera pointed at his face. You study him at your leisure, safe behind a barrier even better than your shades, which are folded on the cluttered bedside table, next to his. His lips are slightly parted, his normally immaculate hair pillow-frizzed and partly squashed under his head. He’s beautiful.

He was thrilled when you decided to pick up photography again, though he kept a careful rein on his enthusiasm, cautious of overwhelming you. Of putting pressure on you, his investment spooking you back into the comfortable ambivalence with which you’ve approached almost everything for the past several years.

The afternoon light filtering through the blinds hits his face in a way that makes your heart squeeze in your chest, and you snap a few shots. He doesn’t even flinch, and your heart clenches even tighter.

His hand slides casually onto your hip, fingers tracing the scar there. When he touches you, your body jerks just slightly, but he knows you, knows your body, and doesn’t withdraw. It’s not a rejection, just an instinctive reaction to being touched with love. Even now, it’s foreign and a little unsettling—but only for a second, before it melts into a feeling of enveloping warmth. Your hands shake a little on the camera, and through the viewfinder, you see his smile.


End file.
